


i know you’d fool me again

by mind_boggling



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13104789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_boggling/pseuds/mind_boggling
Summary: “Can you at least tell me your name?” She asked, folding her arms and shuffling about on the spot, boots clicking once again against the flooring. He was still silent, and Karen eventually headed back towards the door, almost agitatedly."I didn’t know how to contact you,” His voice was gruff, as calloused as his hands, but recognisable anywhere. She stopped in the middle of the doorway, gripping to the frame as she felt herself grow dizzy. “And I saw you come in here”You’re still all heart, huh?Karen forced herself to turn in the doorway, and at this point he’d stood from his chair and let the blanket drop to the group. He sported a beard and curls on the top of his head, so different to how she last saw him, so clean. But that was years ago. “So this is where I am”





	i know you’d fool me again

**Author's Note:**

> a christmas au where karen volunteers at a homeless shelter very close to her late brother’s heart

Any other time of the year, Karen’s family knew how to nucleate themselves. They could be civil, they’d buy each other gifts on birthdays and seasonal occasions, they’d even drop by and see each other once in a while. But Christmas was the only exception. They were broken, during Christmas. There was no amount of festive cheer or Christmas carolling that could fix the huge crack that Christmas put between them. And there was only one thing that made things this way, one thing that deprived them of ever settling into a homely Christmas ever again.

It was when Kevin died.

She was often plagued with nightmares around the anniversary, reminders of the sleepless nights that followed and how she cried until she thought she couldn’t cry anymore. Karen never actually witnessed the accident, merely, the breakdown of her parents as they were issued the news by an NYPD official in a shitty break room of the precinct. Her mother bawled, on her knees as her father clutched onto her crumpling body. Karen’s vision blurs after that, her own tears glazing over her eyes.

But she’ll never forget the sounds. The sounds of her mother’s mangled screams, so wretched and choked with tears that Karen herself felt like she couldn’t breathe; her father’s shouting, yelling at the officer, just repeating _why, why would you do this? Why won’t you bring our boy back?_ And Karen just collapsed. For who knows how long in a heap on the floor of the break room, until a female officer, who seemed much like a family grievance counsellor, comforted her.

It had never been the same for the three of them since that moment. And they all knew it.

They’d never shared a proper Christmas lunch together since that moment. It was always so broken, or fights broke out and someone ended up crying. Often, her mother would be caught looking through photographs of Kevin, her father drinking one too many beers in the armchair of their living room. They drifted apart so quickly that Karen was left in the middle, arms stretching, trying to pull them back to one another. 

Almost eight years ago now, she had given up. She stopped going to her parents house. Stopped visiting them as often, stopped staying for Christmas lunch, mulled wine, mince pies, the lot. It was so false, and Kevin was still so real to them all, even all these years later, that it just felt like a dishonour of his memory. And that was the one thing she didn’t want to do. So she started spending her Christmas days somewhere else, somewhere Kevin would have been if he were still with her.

It was opposite the scene of the accident, where Kevin’s cheap mustang went flying into the window of a dollar store as a drunk driver sent him reeling off the road. A homeless shelter, rather popular, where he used to donate all old clothes, food and little trinkets to. When his allowance was advanced into his pocket, he’d go out and buy some foods and wash sets, just the cheap ones, and donate them to the shelter. 

It was called _Michael’s_ after the founder of the shelter. They loved him there. They were heartbroken to hear of his passing. 

Since 2009, Karen had volunteered there every Christmas day, not a thought to what her parents were doing. Not a care as to what they were doing. She knew there was something inside of her that urged her to do it, something that was telling her that she needed to do it, for Kevin.

There were regulars that turned up every year, still in the area, around and about and who just loved a chat and a coffee with someone willing to listen so they didn’t have to be lonely. Others who got increasingly ill over the years, constantly hacking up and coughing, some that either passed away or moved on to a different shelter after a few years there. Others who she only saw once. Because they’d died.

Karen was always welcomed with open arms, and the conversations she had with the reps at the shelter flowed as sound as water. Despite the other 364 days apart, they got on well like old friends. The person she was closest to within the six other reps and volunteers, was named Xander. 

Since they were very little, he and Kevin had been the best of friends, so naturally, Karen swayed towards him. She felt a comfort in him that she couldn’t find anywhere else, almost the essence of Kevin in another person, someone who wasn’t buried six feet underground.

“Karen,” he smiled at her entrance, as she brushed the snow off of her coat, stomping her boots to drain the excess. The shelter always smelt of warm cocoa and the thick heat hits you the moment you step inside. It took her back to explicit memories of Kevin, memories that were only so clear in that one minute when she arrived. “It’s bitter out. I didn’t think you’d make it this year”

“Of course, I always do” Karen replied, throwing her scarf onto the rack along with her jacket. She bundled the layers on underneath her jacket so she could take it off inside and possibly donate it. She was teetering with the idea of buying herself a new one, anyway. “Haven’t got anywhere else to be, have I?”

He managed a small chuckle in response, and he was holding a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around it. “Hey listen, there’s a new one out back, says he doesn’t want to sit with anyone else. You’re always good with the new ones. I wanted to know if-“

“If I’d take him some coffee and a sandwich? You don’t have to ask” Karen replied, taking the coffee and the plate Xander had produced from behind him and heading out toward the back door. Her boots clicked along the cold floor, echoing in the corridor she walked down. 

As she approached the back room, she saw him hunched over a table, black blanket over his head and around his shoulders. The small heater in the room was on, his calloused hands extended toward it wearily. Karen knocked on the door and he flinched, not enough to turn around though.

“Hi,” she said, walking inside slowly towards the table where he was sat. “I’m Karen, I’m a volunteer here at _Michael’s_. I thought you might like something to eat, a hot drink, maybe?” 

When he didn’t reply, kept folding his hands into one another to warm them against the heater, she placed the plate and the mug on the table. A few seconds of silence before she spoke again. “They’re there if you want them. Do you need to talk about anything? Anything in particular on your mind? I’m here if you want someone to listen”

There was still no response. Karen sighed, now; usually she’d get something out of them by now? A _yes, yes please_ , or _no thank you_ , or, _it’s kind of you to offer_. But here? Nothing. She was practically talking to a brick wall.

“Can you at least tell me your name?” She asked, folding her arms and shuffling about on the spot, boots clicking once again against the flooring. He was still silent, and Karen eventually headed back towards the door, almost agitatedly.

“I didn’t know how to contact you,” His voice was gruff, as calloused as his hands, but recognisable anywhere. She stopped in the middle of the doorway, gripping to the frame as she felt herself grow dizzy. “And I saw you come in here”

_You’re still all heart, huh?_

Karen forced herself to turn in the doorway, and at this point he’d stood from his chair and let the blanket drop to the group. He sported a beard and curls on the top of his head, so different to how she last saw him, so clean. But that was years ago. “So this is where I am”

_Things got this bad for you?_

“Frank,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. Eyes glazed over, widening at the sight of him, her shock gluing her to the spot. He never spoke again, just kept his eyes on her, drinking her in, over and over. How she’d missed his solemn eyes staring right into her soul, searching for her own solemness to match. And there they were.

And before she knew it, she was striding across the room and into his arms, her tears getting the best of her. Frank’s arms around her held her as she caved, convulsing sobs escaping her lips as her body wracked back and forth. His heart pounded against her ears, and she felt his lips to her temple in a bid to calm her. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry”

She had no idea why she’d broken down the way she did. But the lack of contact between the two of them for that many years drove her insane. He’d gone off the radar, assumed dead, once again, by all of New York. But not her. She couldn’t. She just knew that somewhere, somehow, he was still surviving. Even barely. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, his voice wavering as he kept on at it over and over. To make sure she heard. Karen dug her fingers into his back to hold onto him, tighter than ever as she feared he’d disappear in a matter of seconds and once again become a figment of her imagination, a distant memory, a wish. Something she’d wish for a thousand times over, in all the different versions of reality, that he’d be alive, and she’d find him.

_Hold onto it. Use two hands, and never let go._

And in this reality, she cried on his shoulders and felt herself piece back together, in almost exactly the same place where she lost everything; Kevin.

**Author's Note:**

>  **title:** song lyrics from ' _last christmas_ ' by _wham!_
> 
> happy holidays to all you wonderful kastle fans, here is my (terrible) gift to you !!
> 
> find me elsewhere:
> 
>  **twitter:** vanlangs  
>  **tumblr:** bisexualieberman


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